Revenge for Unwarranted Emotions
by Animegoil
Summary: Tag to episode 22: Shinra decides to play a terrible joke on Izaya and tell him that he did all he could, but Shizo is dead. Shizuo was Izaya's to toy with, to kill, and Izaya does not take kindly to trespassers. Implied Izaya/Shizuo.
1. Chapter 1

**I had to write a tag to epy 22 as well. I mean, it's too good not to.  
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**Enjoy! **

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**_Revenge for Unwarranted Emotions  
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It started out as a _perfect_ day.

Izaya leans back from the computer screen and claps his hands together, laughing, looking for all the world like a child watching his favorite cartoons as opposed to a grown man plotting a three-way gang war for the sole purpose of reaching a mythological heaven to be bestowed upon him by a stolen fairy's head. They do say fact is stranger than fiction.

Izaya slurps up his smoothie in the most obnoxiously loud way he can manage, disappointed by the fact that Namie is no longer here to reward him with a glare in his direction, and gleefully reads the commentaries people are leaving all over the internet. He is doubly happy today—not only is his plan to reach Valhalla progressing steadily, but to boot, he has the pleasure of imagining the turmoil and betrayal in each of his three principal pieces. It is delicious, the way Mikado felt compelled to shut down Dollars, as if that will have any impact on the corruption within the Yellow Turbans. And Kida, about to feel twice betrayed! Once by his best friend, and once more by his group. Though the one acting most interestingly is Anri-chan, in fact, trying to piece things together and play the undercover spy to right all perceived wrongs.

_I heard someone got shot tonight_.

_By who?_

_The Yellow Turbans!_

Izaya perks up, putting his drink down and swiveling to face the screen properly. He waits for another drama to unfold, unaware that it is his own.

_They're out of control!_

_But who got shot?_

_I didn't get a name, but I heard that he was wearing a bartender outfit…_

Izaya blinks. And hurriedly types, _No, but that can't be Heiwajima Shizuo! (*A*) Why would the Yellow Turbans have a problem against him? And he's not the type to get shot. _(´^ー^｀)

_He is Dollars though…_

Izaya's pulse speeds up and he grits his teeth in frustration, _I bet it was someone else wearing similar clothes. Can you imagine, Heiwajima Shizuo done in by a bullet?_

The mere idea is ridiculous, and Izaya forces out a sharp bark of laughter to render it even more ridiculous.

The cheap melody of a children's cartoon – Izaya's favorite when he was a kid—suddenly breaks the monotone beeps of the chatroom, and Izaya glares at the interruption. But when he glances over, he sees it is Shinra's number, and that in itself is such a rare occurrence that Izaya decides to pick up, keeping an eye on the chatroom meanwhile.

"Orihara-kun."

"Aah, make this quick, Shinra. While it's a pleasure getting a call from you, I'm a busy man and my attentions are currently needed—"

"I thought you might want to know," Shinra cuts in, voice somber, "Shizuo-kun's been shot. I'm doing all I can but…" he lets the sentence fade into the faint static of the line, and Izaya's blood runs cold. Why? How did this happen?

It takes a moment for Izaya to find his voice, ridding all emotion from it until he could be talking about what to eat for lunch tomorrow, "Right, well. Are you at your apartment?"

"No, Celty and I took him to my office, it's where all of my tools are—"

"Ah, whatever, it's not like I care."

Izaya snaps his phone closed and throws it at the couch, satisfied to hear the chink as it hits the head's container. What is this? Izaya stares at the screen and for some reason is having trouble comprehending this. Heiwajima Shizuo has been _shot_. And according to Shinra, might _die_. Not at Izaya's hands, not through his conniving plots, or at the mercy of his blade, but _shot_ like a dog by some lousy gang members.

Shizuo can't die like this.

For some reason, the thought plays on a loop through Izaya's head as he stuffs his feet into his shoes and almost forgets his keys and his phone, and he runs out the door and down the stairs, blood racing too much to wait for an elevator, and sprints out into the streets.

Shizuo can't be killed by anyone but Izaya himself. This is a truth that is known all over Ikebukuro. In their own twisted way, they are meant for each other. There is a thread tying them together than only they can sever—not some punk on the streets! Izaya's mind wars between shock and anger and the primal fear of losing something important. His stomach churns and he thinks _this shouldn't affect me so, damn it!_

Someone is going to pay in blood for this, and as soon as Izaya finds out who…

0o0

He runs, water splashing onto his face and soaking up through his pants but he pays it no mind, turning corners fast enough he skids and almost trips. Ikebukuro is as quiet and ominous as the sky above it, thundering and letting loose a deluge of water and blood and unrest. He runs into darker and shadier sections of the city, breath being shoved in and out of his lungs, legs working on automatic. No one dares do something so reckless in his city without his knowledge, damn it!

He stops just shy of running into the rusting door at the end of a back-street alley littered with trashbags and stray cats. He pounds on the door and the creak of metal reveals a small opening at eye-level.

"Password?"

"4 am," Izaya snarls, impatient. The time that corresponds to the zodiac sign under which the leader was born, "Hurry it up."

The door opens and Izaya stalks through as if he owned the place. He heads down the rickety stairs, stopping at the first level where all the underlings gather and says, leaning against the door and tilting his head condescendingly towards them, "Now, I'm sure one of you has the information I'm looking for."

"Izaya-san!" a few of them stand up, surprised, and a few others look wary and nervous. Izaya wonders what kind of face he is making to get that particular expression. At any other moment he would exploit it, play with their discomfort a bit more, but right now he can do nothing more than merely relish it.

"100,000 yen to whoever can tell me who shot Heiwajima Shizuo."

They exchange glances, and while some shrug and others just narrow their eyes, one of them pipes up, "I heard some friends in the Yellow Turbans talking about Horada – he used to be in the Blue Squares, and apparently Heiwajima Shizuo did him and his buddies in the night before yesterday, so he was talking about getting revenge."

Izaya's eyes narrow dangerously, and he reaches into his pocket. The guy gulps and scrambles backwards immediately, but all Izaya does is take out his wallet, letting a 100,000 yen note flutter to the floor.

"Thanks for the information," he says, sweet voice at odds with the menace in his eyes as he turns and waves.

0o0

Now Izaya is _truly_ pissed. He can't kill damn Horada, because that would upset his plans. He needs the brute to continue the mutiny and misconduct of the Yellow Turbans.

But there are things other than death, and Izaya is quite good at them.

0o0

He drops down stealthily from a window near the ceiling to the railing overlooking the vast warehouse that is the Yellow Turbans' hideout. Kida isn't around, but then again, Izaya hadn't been expecting him to. Which makes it all too easy. He looks around, and it isn't hard to pick out the one old geezer leading this sorry bunch of kids. He stands on top of the railing, balancing himself effortlessly, and jumps.

The landing is easy – with his skill in parkour, he can drop down from even four stories. But it still shocks the many spectators in the warehouse, who alternately look up at the air and at him and then jump away, some screaming as if he were an apparition, the devil himself spontaneously appearing in front of them. Izaya can think of no better entrance, feels his mind slipping into the high that accompanies the fearful, adoring eyes of humanity on him. He keeps his mind focused on that and on his current goal, not allowing it to trail off to Shinra, and whose body his hands are currently working on.

"What – who are you?" Horada points a quaking finger at him, frightened like the rest at his sudden and seemingly impossible appearance and Izaya clucks his tongue.

"I'm so disappointed, Horada-kun. I know you so well, and yet you've never heard of me?" one hand twirls the air above his head lazily, while the other is deep in his pocket, eagerly running his fingers along the edge of his blade. He's out for blood tonight.

"Who- who the hell are you?" and the big oaf puffs out his chest, resorting to threats, "You're in the Yellow Turbans' headquarters, you know. You're completely surrounded! You've gotta be a fool to come in here by yourself!"

"I'm shaking," Izaya responds, tossing his head to the side and looking up at him, "And that's the first time anyone's ever called Orihara Izaya a fool. I'll have to mark that on my calendar."

The effect is immediate. There are gasps throughout the crowd, and a few people back away. Most stay still, looking either confused or suspicious, some relieved, remembering his invaluable help during their times of need, but all of them have the fear and wariness of recognition in their eyes now, and Izaya basks in the glory of his reputation.

Horada pales slightly, but he laughs, a big ugly laugh to match his big ugly face, "Orihara Izaya, eh? So what brings you here?"

Izaya hops up onto the platform, forcing Horada to back up to put space between them, "I have some things to talk about with you. How about we step outside for a moment?"

Horada frowns, mouth turning downward, "What do you take me for? I'm not going anywhere alone with you."

Izaya laughs, actually amused, "Wow, so there is a brain somewhere in that big head of you. But I promise you don't have to worry about your life—whether you know it or not, you're an important pawn in my game, and I approve of your current actions within the Yellow Turbans. Nicely played."

Horada seems mollified by Izaya's praise, but he is still hesitant. Izaya's gaze sharpens.

"Come, man. If I wanted to kill you, I would have picked a place not surrounded by your comrades. I'm not suicidal, after all. And you owe me – I could tell your dear Shogun about your place in the Blue Squares, and if I were to do that… well, that's when you would have to worry about your life. He's not too fond of the Blue Squares, after all. And much less of the people who did that to his girlfriend."

Honestly, Izaya isn't either, Saki is a nice girl, but it's also not his problem, and just one of the many casualties of gangs and war. Izaya turns around, shrugging and speaking in a voice loud enough to be heard by most of the warehouse.

"Ah, and after all I've done for the Yellow Turbans! You can't grant me one little conversation? Come, your comrades remember me – I don't bite."

_Hard_, he adds to himself, smirking.

Horada looks around, and though no one is saying _Yeah, sure, Izaya's a great guy, we're all chum-chum with him,_ no one's actually saying anything to the contrary. Izaya's never bit them, after all.

Horada nods then, hands on his hips in an attempt at false bravado, "Alright, I'll give you your conversation."

"Great." Izaya grins, walking down the ramp and out the back door, listening to Horada's footsteps behind him.

o0o

It's still raining outside, and they stand under the protection of the overhang above the door for loading and unloading supplies. The rain is strong enough that it blurs everything in the distance, and forms a constant spray of splashes on the ground as it falls into puddles that have become a small sea. There is almost no light, but what shines through the crack in the door from the inside is enough for Izaya to see Horada's expression.

"So, what's this about?" Horada says, and now that he's out here and alone with Izaya, the nervousness creeps back into his stance and into the muscles of his face.

Izaya stretches lazily, "Well, a little birdie told me that you were the one who shot Heiwajima Shizuo. Am I right?"

Horada is taken by surprise, "Eh? W-well, yeah, he messed with us the other day! He was looking for a good thrashing!"

Izaya is disgusted by this blundering idiot, and his grin is saccharine sweet. The sweeter his smile, the more malice behind it as well, "And because you're no match for him in strength, you resorted to a cowardly weapon like a gun. Can't be helped, I suppose, it is Shizu-chan we're talking about. But I guess you weren't aware, Horada-kun," he narrows his eyes, his switchblade flicking open out of nowhere and glinting eerily in the dim light, "Heiwajima Shizuo is mine alone to deal with."

Horada yelps and points, "You – you said you weren't going to hurt me!"

Izaya cackles, eyes lighting up, "I said you didn't have to fear for your life. I won't _kill_ you. But there are other things that are just as… painful as death."

Horada looks frightened and confused, "But, but—can't we talk about this? I didn't know!"

Izaya laughs, "Good try, but that's no excuse. Especially if Shizu-chan dies because of you. I'm not the type to make promises, but I assure you, if Shizu-chan dies, you'll end up _preferring_ death. As it is, I'm an understanding soul, and your punishment for touching what's mine is pretty simple."

Izaya looks at the cowardly face in front of him, takes one step forward and reaches a hand out to catch the raindrops, "You currently owe the yakuza a pretty hefty debt, don't you? Well, I've taken care of that. You don't owe them a cent anymore."

The bewilderment on Horada's face is almost arousing.

"But your debt hasn't been removed, sad to say. No, it's just been… converted. Instead of owing them money, now you owe your services. To Takeguchi-san himself," Izaya's smile becomes absolutely terrifying, the tips of his canines showing as his grin becomes wide and predatory. He flicks the water off, and goes on to examine his nails as he continues, "I've heard Takeguchi-san has grown bored with his last boy-toy, and though you're not exactly up there in the looks department, he's not known for being tasteful, merely greedy. I'm sure you'll be well appreciated."

Horada pales, his face pasty white against the stark, dark background, and one hand rises to cover his mouth as if he might be sick, "You – you didn't!"

"Oh, but I did."

" Just – what—" he glances towards the warehouse, and opens his mouth.

Lightning fast, Izaya has Horada knocked down, one hand over his mouth to stifle his yell. Horada begins to thrash, but Izaya presses the point of his blade on the inside of Horada's thigh, and the prick of pain makes his thrashings cease immediately, "Careful. Make one noise or otherwise attempt to call your friends, and your family jewels won't get to be passed on."

Izaya smirks in satisfaction at the slimy fear in the brute's eyes. It fills him with a heady burst of adrenaline and dazes him with happiness. That, coupled with the cold rage inside him and the satisfaction of revenge, makes him nearly giddy.

He toys with the lapels of Horada's jacket, flicking the buttons off one by one, "You've trespassed onto my territory, and I don't take kindly to that."

"I didn't know!" Horada whimpers, the sound muffled by Izaya's hand. Izaya grimaces at the spit on his hand and removes it to wipe it off on Horada's jacket. Disgusting, to have this man's essence on him.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before, hmm?" Izaya presses the tip of his blade against Horada's collarbone, cutting his shirt open and pressing in until the skin breaks and a bead of blood accumulates, "And I'm going to give you a little reminder, so that you don't make a mistake like that ever again. Don't touch what's mine."

Horada looks like he's about to scream, and immediately, Izaya's blade is against his thigh again, and Horada aborts his scream immediately.

He carves the kanji for 'mistake' into Horada's flesh, opposite of his heart.

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**Um, haha, so Shizuo doesn't even appear in this chapter, sorry! There's still one more chapter, and almost finished, too :) he'll be in there.**

**You people who are actually into concrit: Tell me, did I get Izaya's character believable enough? Since we've never really seen him upset...  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, after much delay... here's the next and sort of last chapter. Enjoy!**

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_**Revenge for Unwarranted Emotions**

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The rain has gotten stronger, stinging his hands and face like cold, sharp needles, and at this late hour, the streets are quiet save for the occasional drunk passerby and the slap of his feet against the puddles and wet pavement. Now that his revenge is complete, there's nothing to distract him from the irritated thought of _If he dies, I'm going to fucking kill him. _He digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone, dialing without even looking.

He hears a scuffle in the background, and then Shinra's somber voice, "Orihara-kun..."

Izaya grits his teeth, heart pounding and stomach twisting into itself, but his mouth opens and automatically settles into the rhythm of nonchalant pleasantries, "Ne, Shinra. I'm tempted to pay you and your little patient a visit, just to see what the great Heiwajima Shizuo looks like when defeated. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Shinra hesitates, and Izaya gets a sudden wave of nausea that almost makes him slip. He bites back the snarl of _What the fuck does that mean, Shinra? You didn't let him die, that bastard couldn't have - _

"Yeah. Yeah, you can come over, no problem, but... I'm sorry, Orihara-kun. I did what I could but..."

Izaya laughs mirthlessly, his mind blank and dazed, and hears himself say, voice slightly breathless as he takes the flight of stairs on the front of Shinra's apartment building, "Haha, what are you apologizing for, Shinra? It's not like I care, you know. Anyway, I'm around the area, so I'll probably be able to stop by your place in a bit."

He hangs up without bothering to say goodbye or hear Shinra's response, his patience shortened by the turmoil in his stomach. He presses the elevator button, but a few restless seconds later gives up and begins climbing the stairs. He's just the slightest bit out of breath by the time he gets up to Shinra's floor. He reaches for the door, knuckles poised to knock, but he doesn't.

Why is he here? Why does it matter if he sees Shizuo one last time? He's dead already, so why should Izaya waste any more of his time with him?

But despite the berating voice in his head, Izaya always does what he wants, no matter how whimsical. And he knows that what he wants right now is to see Shizuo's face, defeated. Will he be as awe-inspiring dead as when alive?

What he doesn't realize is that the reason for his hesitation is simple: he doesn't want to accept that Shizuo truly is dead.

o0o

Shinra opens the door, watching him with mournful eyes, and Izaya swallows, giving him the briefest flicker of a smile and raising his hand in a jaunty wave. Shinra waves him in, smelling strongly of analgesic and sterility, and Izaya wrinkles his nose in distaste as he walks past him.

"So, where is he?" Izaya asks, examining his nails and raising his eyes to the paintings on the wall.

"In the living room, but Orihara-kun—"

Izaya walks into the living room, eyes jumping immediately to the figure on the couch. The rain-smudged tips of his shoes are the only things that peek out from underneath the cloth strewn over the body. The gray cloth lies neatly over his figure, obscuring all details and leaving only the vague outline of the man who could have uprooted all of Ikebukuro had he chosen to.

And that's when it hits him. He draws in a sharp breath, and feels like someone has just clobbered the side of his head, with the ringing in his ears and the sudden queasiness in his stomach. He knows he hasn't moved an inch —the control he has over his body is impeccable— but he feels as if he'd just stood up from his office chair after spinning too hard in it, the ground giving way in odd angles under his feet.

Shizuo is gone. Izaya suddenly realizes what that means – no more wandering through the city, wary of and excited to run into him. No more toying with him. No more fantasizing what his face would look like if he played this prank on him, no more wild runs through the streets of Ikebukuro, vaulting and scurrying and gliding through the city as if it were his very own gargantuan playground. Izaya had always… Izaya had never truly considered what would happen if Shizuo died. Because the only person _worthy_ of killing Shizuo was Izaya, just as Shizuo was the only person worthy of killing Izaya. But Izaya, despite any threats, would have never killed Shizuo. Because Shizuo was the only hobby that Izaya had not gotten tired of, even years later. Shizuo was the one thing that kept pushing Izaya to his limits, the one who had forced Izaya to learn parkour and push himself physically, the only one to challenge his wit and his reflexes, the only one to foil his plans, the only one who always, _always_ made Izaya's pulse rise. Shizuo was everything Izaya hated and disdained in humanity – brawn over brains, recklessness, innocence, righteousness, boorishness, uncouthness, blindness. He had been the perfect foil for Izaya, and Izaya suddenly feels like something has been ripped away from him. The breath leaves his lungs and leaves him empty, dazed and breathless.

Izaya, despite how easily he can read human emotions and play them as if they were strings wrapped around his fingers, has no true personal experience with them. He feels joy and glee in boundless proportion, as well as irritation. He's felt alarm once or twice, at the odd failed landing when mastering parkour, or when he'd let himself get cornered by yakuza in his inexperience. But darker emotions – depression, anxiety, fear, insecurity, anger — and simpler emotions — affection, love, need, empathy— he has no idea what those are.

Is this… grief, then?

o0o

Izaya begins to laugh. It is a slow chuckle at first, but it turns into a blown-out crow of hysterical proportions.

"I'm going to kill him!" he says between guffaws, one hand raised to obscure his eyes, "After my plan is done and he's expendable, I'm going to kill that oaf!"

Shinra looks at him nervously, fidgeting with the edge of his lab coat, "Um, that's not really necessary, I don't think—"

Izaya whips out a hand to point at the still, cloth-covered corpse, eyes frantic and manic, "After killing Shizu-chan? Oh, I believe it's more than necessary!"

Celty suddenly appears at the doorway, called over by the sudden, out-of-place laughter, PDA waving in the air with some trivial message. Behind him, he catches sight of the girl, Anri, but Izaya's so far gone in this whirling black hole thrumming in his chest, demanding all his attention, that he pays her none.

He turns back to Shizuo instead, throwing one leg over him and straddling him, ignoring Shinra's sudden yells, ready to pull down the cloth and slap Shizuo's dead face, and accuse him of being stupid enough to die like this. How _dare_ he die and leave Izaya? How dare he die without Izaya's permission? How dare he die at someone _else's_ hands?

Celty's hands are suddenly on his shoulders, trying to pull him off, and Shinra's yelling, "Ah, get off him, you're going to aggravate the wounds! If you mess up the stitches, Orihara-kun—"

Izaya freezes, mind abandoning a half-formed _what…?_ to disintegrate before it begins connecting dots, his sudden stillness allowing Celty to pull him off of Shizuo. Izaya lets her and leaning to take a closer look at Shizuo. Now that he's looking for it, he notices the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of the cloth. He reaches out a hand, ignoring Celty's twitch, and pulls down the cloth over Shizuo's face.

Shizuo lies there, eyes closed and face pale, sunglasses removed and hair still damp at the roots. He looks to be slumbering peacefully, and the puff of breath against his palm when Izaya touches it to his lips confirms it.

That's when Shinra bursts out laughing, in that obnoxious way that means he's been holding it in for a good bit now, and Izaya whips his head to look at him. Beside him, even Celty's shoulders are shaking. Izaya's eyes narrow into slits, and his knife suddenly appears in his hand as he straightens up, "Shinra… what is this?"

Shinra gulps, a sheepish look sliding onto his face, and Celty steps between them, guarding him.

"Well, you're the one who jumped to conclusions, Orihara-kun. I never actually _said_ he was dead," Shinra grins impishly, "I have to admit, for someone who claims to hate Shizuo so much, you looked almost upset!"

Izaya is torn between being furious – another foreign emotion—and praising him for the sheer genius of his joke. Of course, it's hard to appreciate a joke when you're at the receiving end of it, but Izaya's not known for being logical or normal. He laughs again.

"Well done, Shinra, well done. You had me going there for a bit. And of course I'd be upset- my favorite toy would have been gone! Can you imagine the life of boredom to which I'd have been condemmed?"

He says all this while feeling this rush of something light and clear fill his head. He glances at Shizuo again and his knees wobble. He suddenly wants to sit down.

"Well, Shizu-chan's miraculous survival is worthy of a toast!" he sings, arms raised jubilantly as he flops down on a chair to hide his sudden inability to stand, and only once Shinra calls out a cheerful agreement and scurries away to the kitchen, with Celty following behind, does Izaya let his smile falter and turn into a disgusted grimace as he glances down at his hands. They're fucking _shaking_.

He glances up at Shizuo's body, still covered in that damn cloth, lying there peacefully, oblivious to the turmoil that Izaya's just been through, and Izaya seethes.

_I hate you, Shizu-chan_.

* * *

**Right, so you guys are like... that's it? And the answer is yes, and no. Yes because with this I accomplished what I wanted to do with Izaya, and I feel like this is the most appropriate conclusion to the fic. No, because I do have more written/wanting to be written, and I think I'll either post that as an 'omake' type thing, or just post it as a separate fic. :/ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Right. Let's be TWO WEEKS LATE with this thing, but if you're still here, enjoy!  
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_**Revenge for Unwarranted Emotions**

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So Shinra takes out a bottle of wine that Izaya is reasonably impressed with and pops it open. Celty's finger-like shadows swirl over bottle as if tasting it, and then retract, uninterested. Anri politely declines, blinking her wide eyes as if scandalized that she's even been asked, at her tender young age and all that, so Shinra takes out only two glasses and sets them on the table.

"A toast!" Izaya begins, raising his glass high, "To humanity!"

"To the love between Celty and me!"

"Um… shouldn't it be to Heiwajima-san's health?" Anri murmurs.

"Let's add that in too," Izaya grins, taking a sip of wine and swirling it around his mouth to let the flavor spread throughout his palate and calm him down. He's coming back to his senses, but he still feels this odd disconnection between his body and mind, and it takes all of his concentration to focus on the here and now, because otherwise his mind begins to float back into this dazed existence that he refuses to label as shock. His hands are still trembling just the barest bit, but he pushes it all to the back of his mind to examine once he's alone. He puts the glass down to scrub his hair dry with the towel Shinra provided him with, glad that his coat managed to keep most of the rain off the clothes underneath. With his face partially obscured by the towel, he glances surreptitiously at the figure on the couch, and his jaw tightens. He scoffs slightly and scrubs his hair harder.

"Ah, but really, Shizuo-kun amazes me. I wish he'd let me take a small vivisection of his muscles—I don't see why not, seeing as how he's perfectly okay with me taking bullets out of him. Another small incision wouldn't even be a problem! I bet he wouldn't even scar," Shinra pouts, popping open a bag of crackers and offering some to Izaya and Anri, "Want some?"

"No thanks. You know I don't like processed food," Izaya smiles easily, spreading the towel on the back of his chair now that his hair is suitably dry and crossing his legs underneath the kitchen table as he takes his glass again and throws half of it down in one gulp, "So," he says, passing the bag to Anri, "I'm dying to hear how you found him in the first place. Give me all the juicy details, Shinra. You know how much I love them."

"And I would love to tell you, but I didn't find him," Shinra makes himself comfortable next to Celty, throwing an arm around her shoulder as he takes another sip of wine, and Celty miraculously lets him, "He appeared at my door."

Izaya blinks, "Whaaaat? How did he get there?"

Shinra leans forward conspiringly and stage whispers, glancing at Shizuo's still form, "He _walked_ here."

Izaya stares, and then laughs, waving a hand in the air dismissively, "Surely you're pulling my leg again, Shinra. Is that even humanly possible? Where was he shot?"

"That's what I asked him! He was shot in the thigh and abdomen – the nerves and muscle tissues sustained severe trauma! By all medical standards, he shouldn't have been able to walk here. He was even suffering severe blood loss!" Shinra waves his arms about agitatedly, and Celty has to reach out to steady the glass and keep it from spilling, "Ah, thanks, Celty!"

Izaya frowns, partly impressed and partly troubled. Does Shizuo's inhuman strength know no bounds? True, Izaya has seen him hit by a truck and still get up after that, so he supposes it's not completely surprising that he's able to move about after being shot… but that's certainly something to keep in mind. Is there _anything_ that can keep Shizuo down? He glances at Shizuo and his mind is already whirring.

"And then?" he asks absently, and as soon as he takes note of his distraction, forces himself to tear his eyes away from that sharply defined profile.

"Oh, well, then I set him on the couch and tended to him. I was able to remove the bullet in his thigh without a problem," Shinra says, voice become matter-of-fact as his clinical mind takes over, "The tissue damage was rather extensive, but the area isn't problematic to operate on even with a basic tool kit. The abdomen was another story, though. It missed his kidney by a few inches only, but it was embedded too deep for me to be able to see that here, much less extract it without possibly aggravating the wound further than his walking here had done to it. So I asked Celty to take us to my office."

Izaya hates it, the way his eyes keep flickering over towards Shizuo as Shinra speaks, and he steels himself and grips the wine glass with tight fingers as he fixes his stare onto Shinra.

"The most amazing part is that Shizuo-kun didn't even ask for anesthetics! I did the whole surgery on him and removed both bullets without any analgesic or anesthetics! And the whole time, Shizuo-kun just chatted about how he's going to crush the guy who did that to him. Ah, Shizuo-kun is truly a one-of-a-kind specimen…" Shinra trails off, most likely to fantasize about giving him a biopsy. Celty pokes him, breaking him out of his trance, and Shinra jumps and clears his throat, "Right, well, I have no doubts that he'll make a miraculous recovery."

"Well," Izaya mutters, "The wonders never cease," in a way, now he's even more pissed at himself for getting worked up over Shizuo, when clearly the man is indestructible. Izaya has to admit that he's impressed. Izaya is well aware of his own shortcomings, and he knows he would be worth shit if he were shot. Izaya's not too fond or tolerant of physical pain—learning parkour has regaled him with plenty of painful incidents, and that's more than enough to teach Izaya that he doesn't deal well with them. Izaya sighs and rests one cheek on his palm, "That guy could probably survive a nuclear bomb. And after I went through all the trouble of avenging him, too."

"Avenging him?" Shinra adjusts his glasses and pours a new glass for himself and Izaya.

Izaya nods his thanks, a bit surprised that he's even mentioned it. Alcohol always makes him a tad more loose-lipped and melodramatic, but oh well. Not a big deal – his self-control is tight enough that he won't let slip any _real_ secrets, "Of course. I don't want people to think that they can mess with things that belong to me, you know?" Izaya says with a shrug and the ghost of a smirk, "Or for someone to interrupt the terribly exciting times I have with Shizu-chan. That kind of thing is _unforgivable_. So I paid the shooter a special visit," he grins, eyes lighting up, remembering the faces Horada made, the exquisite contortions of fear on his disgusting mug, "It went wonderfully. It's so much fun to see justice being carried out! It sends a thrill up my spine to be able to exact appropriate punishment on sinners. Things like that are truly what I live for."

Celty shifts, as if uncomfortable with Izaya's grandiose and ironic words, but Shinra's eyes are wide, and though Shinra doesn't much care for Izaya's brand of deviousness, Shinra isn't an innocent white sheep either. He leans forward, curious and maybe just a bit tipsy, given the shine in his eyes, "Really? What did you do to him?"

Izaya chuckles and swirls the wine in his glass, "Oh, just tweaked some payment he owed the yakuza. He's in for some rough times, I'd say. In various senses of the word."

Celty's PDA suddenly appears in the air, _Who was it?_

Izaya shakes a finger at her, "Ah-ah-ah, that's top secret information, Black Rider. Unfortunately, he's needed for various other things, and so I can't have people going and killing him and ruining my plans. I would be heartbroken if that were to happen, and you don't want to see this face on me, do you?" he proceeds to give her his best kicked-puppy look, which honestly, he's not sure he's actually capable of pulling off since his mouth keeps twitching upwards, and Celty's nonexistent face gives him no indication either.

Celty retracts her PDA slowly, and if she had a face, Izaya bets she would have been frowning, thin lips pressed into an almost pout. She hesitates, and then types, _But if the shooter went after Shizuo, what's not to say he won't come after you, now?_

Izaya's sure that it's not concern that makes her ask that, but curiosity about his methods. After all, Izaya is not the type to take risks, and all of his moves are meticulously planned to serve a purpose either now or later. There has to be some sort of preventive measure in place.

Izaya's smile is sharp and satisfied, what the wolf would have looked like after eating Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother, "Oh, no need to worry. The punishment I gave him is humiliating enough that he won't tell any of his friends. And he's too much of a coward to come at me on his own," he sighs, "Humans have such predictable limits sometimes."

Shinra looks impressed, and maybe just a bit too gleeful. "Ahaha, you really do earn your reputation, Orihara-kun!" and Celty types out an _I see…_

Izaya asks for another refill, by this point feeling heady and warm with the rush of alcohol. The amount of snuggling that Shinra is currently subjecting Celty to is probably an indication that he too is feeling the effects of their, what, third or fourth glass of wine?

"So, Shinra," he says, yawning. He flips open his cellphone, fingers clumsier than usual, and notes the time. Three in the morning. "What's his status?" he hooks a thumb in the direction of the slumbering juggernaut.

"Oh, Shizuo-kun?" Shinra yawns as well, mouth gaping wide, and Celty takes his hand and puts it over his mouth to cover it properly. "Right, how could I forget my manners, Celty!" he says, patting her thigh affectionately and then turning back to Izaya. "I think the blood loss finally got to him once the adrenaline wore off, and then I gave him enough tranquilizers to knock out a small horse. It should keep him out until at least noon tomorrow. Unless Shizuo-kun's body does something surprising…" Shinra strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should have gone with the dose for 163-183 cm tall horses after all… hm, I guess we'll see."

Izaya tunes him out and slumps in the seat, and only at that point notices that Anri has disappeared, which is a shame, he had been wanting to make some random ominous comments and shake her up a bit. But it's late, and he's comfortable, Shizu-chan is alive, and Izaya had a fun night playing with his pawn. He feels sated, stretching his arms out like an overgrown cat.

"Hey, Shinraaa," he drawls, gulping down the rest of his glass in one go. He sets the glass down with a little more force than necessary and looks to Shinra, who has his head comfortably pillowed in Celty's lap, "Do you mind if I just crash here tonight? It's raining still, an' I'm so tiiiired."

_I don't know if that's such a good idea…_ Celty types.

Izaya pouts, "Oh, c'mon, now. If I'd wanted Shizu-chan dead, I wouldn't go around avengin' his shooter, would I?"

The answer's actually yes, but Celty doesn't need to know that. Izaya puts on his most innocent face, and Shinra comes to his rescue by saying, "Sure, we can set up an extra futon for you here in the living room, since our guest room is currently taken. Orihara-kun isn't the type to do anything to sleeping people, because then he can't enjoy their reactions. It's once Shizuo wakes that we'll have to worry."

"Well, well. Look at how well you know me," Izaya smiles brightly, eyes narrowed into thin slits, "Thanks, Shinra."

o0o

By the time the futon is set out in the living room and everyone has said goodnight and the lights are off, the full effects of all their wine has kicked in. Izaya stares up at the ceiling, watching it tilt and ebbs away from him… towards him… away from him…

He rolls over, and then regrets the action, because now the floor is doing the exact same thing, but at the much closer rage, the effect is almost nauseating.

"Ne, Shizu-chan, you wouldn't mind being my barf bag, would you? I wouldn't want to get it on Shinra's stuff…" he says, relishing the silence that greets him. He could say anything and everything to Shizuo at the moment. It's not quite the same as saying it and getting a reaction, but the endless possibilities and the rarity of the situation have a certain charm of their own. Izaya pulls himself up and crawls over to the couch, kneeling by Shizuo's head and leaning close to whisper, "From the moment I saw you, I knew you were a one-of-a-kind person, Shizu-chan," he drags a finger down the side of Shizuo's cheek, "And you never disappoint. But you do frustrate. A lot. How is it that you always upturn my expectations? You're always getting' in the way of things, Shizu-chan. It's very annoying. I hope you know that."

Izaya sighs and lies his head down on the couch next to Shizuo, watches hazily the rise and fall of his chest. He turns his head slightly, met with the cliff-side of Shizuo's cheek beside him, smooth and white and unmarked, despite all the cuts that Izaya has placed there himself. Shizuo's hair smells of rainwater and underneath, the alkaline tang of blood mixed with a heavier musk that must be Shizuo's personal brand of sweat. Izaya noses his neck, breathing deeply, "But I have to admit. It makes for great entertainment. You know something, Shizu-chan? I would have been… well, to say 'sad' would be pushing the limit, but I think I would have missed you if you'd died. Things would have been so dreadfully boring. Don't you feel honored?"

He knows, somewhere inside, that he's lying. For a second, when he'd truly thought Shizuo was dead, Izaya had been devastated. Without Shizuo around, Izaya had felt like he'd lost his own definition. Shizuo is there to contrast him, and without Shizuo, there would be no one for Izaya to model himself on to be the exact opposite. It's not something Izaya had consciously realized before – after all, all of his personality traits are his and his alone. But by hating Shizuo, he'd come to hate all that Shizuo embodied as well, and thus, he'd strived to be as _unlike_ those qualities as he could. Shizuo has always served as the epitome of everything Izaya does _not_ want to be. Somber, indifferent to humanity, complacent, simple-minded, blunt, violent, brutish, vulgar and unrefined, honorable and kind.

There is something wriggling in Izaya's mind as he looks down the length of Shizuo's body, and he remembers with a jolt the heat he'd felt for that split moment where he'd been sitting on top of Shizuo. He reaches out to push the blanket down past Shizuo's shoulders, past his chest, swatting it away and bunching it at his waist, and stares. Shizuo's chest is milky pale, and though his muscles are certainly well-defined, when taking into consideration the fact that he can pick up a car, he's still downright skinny. Not that Izaya can say much, since his body is similarly slender despite the musculature he's accrued due to parkour. The only thing marring the vast expanse of white, white skin is the thin strip of gauze wrapped around his abdomen, under which the sutures lie.

He pulls himself up and drags his leg over Shizuo's body, settling on him. Though his stomach would have been more comfortable, he's not enough of a sadist (at least not while Shizuo's knocked out beyond hope of waking) to aggravate his wounds purposely. So he settles on his hips, and places both of his hands on Shizuo's shoulders to stabilize himself, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

For Izaya, the relaxed muscles of Shizuo's face are a rare sight. Shizu-chan's personality may not match the peace of his name at all, but his looks certainly do. His face is serene, remaining oblivious to the sudden frustration that rises up in Izaya.

"You," he snarls, digging his fingernails into Shizuo's shoulders, hoping to see even a tiny twitch. Nothing. He squeezes harder, "You know, you're a pain. A real pain. I get the strangest feelings when I see you. Today, especially," Izaya barks out a laugh, "I mean, for a second, I was actually upset! Me! I can't remember the last time something did more than irritate me, and yet there I was, actually bothered by your supposed death," his arms shake with the strength he's putting into his fingers, and he's rewarded when he breaks that smooth, unmarked skin and beadlets of blood seep underneath his fingernails. He leans down, ghosting his face over Shizuo's, noting the closed eyelids, under which a flicker of movement is visible, "What are you dreaming of, Shizu-chan? Does it involve pain? Does it involve me?" he grips even harder, and now the blood is enough to pool around his fingers, "It should."

He lets go. No need to dirty Shinra's couch. He takes the gray blanket and tugs it to wipe the blood off Shizuo's shoulder, though more seeps out to fill in the half-moon prints his fingernails have left. Izaya thinks it looks rather pretty, and leans down to lick the thumbnail print. The taste explodes in his mouth, sweetly tangy and sour. Izaya rolls his shoulders in pleasure.

"I don't like being made to do things, Shizu-chan. Things like _feeling_," Izaya murmurs, "I don't take kindly to that. Just like I didn't take kindly to that brute's encroachment on my territory. I got my revenge on him, though," he opens his eyes and looks down at the gauze covering Shizuo's side, "Don't you think it's only fair that you pay too?" he slides one hand underneath the gauze, wiggling his fingers under to loosen it enough for him to raise it, "For what you've done?"

He bends down to peek underneath. He's a bit disappointed to see a neat clump of stitches, only the very edges of the wound stained an angry, violent red. Shinra's reputation is well-earned. He takes out his knife and slides it under the gauze, hooking the blunt edge of his knife under the stitches and tugging slightly. The skin stretches, but the stitches are firm enough that they do not give. Still, it must be painful, and Izaya raises his eyes with a smirk to see the expression of pain on Shizuo's face.

Except there is none. The giant, the juggernaut, sleeps on, undisturbed. Izaya growls, tilting his knife to push the tip against the wound. Nothing but a poke at first, but at the lack of response on Shizuo's face, he puts on more pressure, feeling the dip of the skin under his hand.

"Nothing still?" he grinds out, eyes narrowed and sparking anger, and just when he's about to slide the knife underneath the skin, between the lips of the wound, his hand goes slack. Izaya almost moans, closing his eyes and letting the room spin slowly around him, vertigo hitting him from nowhere. He slides his knife out from underneath the gauze slowly, and pockets it again, swaying. His mind is suddenly blank and calm again.

"How do you do it, Shizu-chan?" he whispers, pressing his face into Shizuo's neck and stretching his legs out behind him, tangling them between Shizuo's. He lets his body relax against Shizuo's, exhausted and intoxicated as he is, though not all of it from alcohol. He feels the heat of Shizuo's bare skin envelop him and lull him into sleep, and he tries to put into words the last coherent thought he has, "What does it mean… Shizu-chan… that you make me feel all these things?"

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**Alright. Before you shoot me - I did say that I wasn't sure where to continue this or not, because I wasn't sure what I could do with Izaya! Honestly, I felt like I was pushing things a bit with this one. Too PWP-feeling for me. But this is the best thing I could come up with, and I'd appreciate thoughts on what worked and didn't - did his monologues seem in character? Was it too open and honest? Were his actions too random, too unplotted? Was the conversation between him and Shinra too forced and unnatural? Was Celty okay or over the top? **


	4. Chapter 4

**And the last little bit to wrap things up ;)  
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_**Revenge for Unwarranted Emotions**

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"What the…"

Izaya wakes at the low, gravelly voice, and for a moment he groggily thinks …_the fuck?_ when the mattress below him shifts irregularly. Then he realizes it's not a mattress, but a _body_, and then it all comes rushing back. He lies on top of Shizuo, the heat of his bare skin filtering through Izaya's thin shirt and their legs entwined like a game of pick-up-sticks. Izaya lies still, feigning sleep as his mind tries to come up with a means to escape, relying on Shizuo's honor to keep him from hitting someone who's still asleep. Though, it being Izaya, exceptions are not only possible, but likely.

"Louse!" Shizuo shoves a hand against Izaya's shoulder, and Izaya takes the opportunity to opens his eyes slowly, feigning confusion and sleep.

"Huh? Oh… good morning, Shizu-chan," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Shizuo looks flustered, and confused, and pissed off, "What the hell are you doing on me, you flea?" his eyes suddenly widen, and he jolts, sitting up slightly and upsetting Izaya's comfortable position, "You— you better not have tried anything on me!"

Izaya's eyes brighten as Shizuo's words inspire a brilliant idea, and he leans forward, pressing a finger against Shizuo's lips, "Oh don't worry! We didn't do anything past this—" and he proceeds to smack his lips against Shizuo's dry, warm ones. All in all, it's a very chaste kiss – no tongue, though Izaya briefly considers it, but then Izaya thinks _Ew, what the hell, I'm kissing Shizu-chan? Seriously, Izaya, you are crazy sometimes._ And that is all levels of wrong.

Shizuo looks like he's lost all higher brain function, not that Izaya really believed him to have any in the first place, but Izaya uses Shizuo's shock as prime opportunity to lick his lips— they taste like nothing, but the phantom pressure remains— untangle his legs and roll off him, and stand up. By the time Shizuo roars and clambers to his feet, Izaya is already at the balcony.

"See you later, Shizu-chan! I hope you remember our night together fondly!"

As he's vaulting down the building balcony by balcony, holding on to the railings and dropping down to the floor below each time, he thinks back to the kiss and realizes that it wasn't actually all that bad. Maybe there's something there worth pursuing.

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**To all who commented on the characterization: thank you! It was a relief to hear your encouragement, and thanks for taking the time to help me with it 3 Hope you enjoyed this! **


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